


Lessons in Demon Summoning

by yotoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, but mostly just chill times, there's kind of a plot, watch out for the big ol eff bombs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yotoll/pseuds/yotoll
Summary: Summoning a demon wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. A bit of chalk drawn into a pentagram and an inviting “please” could, theoretically, bring forth a force from Hell. It wasn’t very flashy, and there was no compelling reason to answer to such a meager calling, so most demons wouldn’t even notice or bother with it. If you happened to summon a demon this way, chances were they would step straight out of the sigil, rend you limb from limb and go back to whatever greater, demonic deed they were carrying on about.So, summoning a demon wasn’t really that hard, but the surviving bit was pretty vitally important.---Crowley experiences an unexpected summoning while cozied up with a certain angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 185





	Lessons in Demon Summoning

Summoning a demon wasn’t as hard as everyone made it out to be. A bit of chalk drawn into a pentagram and an inviting “please” could, theoretically, bring forth a force from Hell. It wasn’t very flashy, and there was no compelling reason to answer to such a meager calling, so most demons wouldn’t even notice or bother with it. If you happened to summon a demon this way, chances were they would step straight out of the sigil, rend you limb from limb and go back to whatever greater, demonic deed they were carrying on about.

So, summoning a demon wasn’t really that hard, but the surviving bit was pretty vitally important. Crowley, being the sort of demon he was, didn’t normally handle demonic summonings unless there was nothing more entertaining to be done at the time. He had a presence on earth to maintain, so he wasn’t part of the on-call staff. It was hard to maintain a low-profile if he was whisked away in the middle of a restaurant by fire and brimstone just because his number was up in the summoning queue. He mostly didn’t think about summonings as a result.

He knew the details of them, though. Knew the right warding sigils, the occult names that could bring for certain types of demons. Part of it was intuitive, like knowing what ingredients to use in a cake. Part of it was formulaic, dependent on the portions and ordering of the ingredients. He knew his specific summoning signals—his occult name, the runes to bind his particular magics, the group he fell in—and largely chose not to pick up. He would feel an occult tingle, a pull to miracle himself somewhere specific, and conjure up a quick image of where he was meant to be to see if it was worth his time pursuing. The more grandiose, the more likely for him to ignore it. How he _loved_ ignoring those.

It was a fantastic sight when he had the time both to ignore it and observe the aftermath of a failed summoning ritual with all the pomp and circumstance behind it. A group of a dozen or so people, huddled in the dark around a blood-red sigil, faces cast in shadow by hoods and candles flickering at their feet. Almost always somewhere dark and decrepit. An uncomfortable environment meant to pull from the “natural evil” of the world. There were certainly pockets of the world demons liked to frequent, but those weren’t so often crumbling buildings and secret basements. So instead of bother dragging himself whatever miserable hole in the world this group had chosen, he would sit down, open up a bottle of something, and watch the aftermath of all their efforts not working spiral out.

Almost always, there was hesitation. A few moments of utter silence, followed by murmuring. Whoever was leading the ritual had a big, archaic, Latin text and might consult it. They might restart. Crowley would watch them all fumble about and call his name while he sipped at his Scotch and criticize their presentation. It was his demonic version of reality TV.

There were, however, occasions where the ritual _would_ manage to summon him properly. Those that didn’t just incline him somewhere but _forced_ him to the location. It was always a bad sign. Using his proper summoning meant there had been research done. Whoever was calling upon him knew he was the Serpent of Eden. Knew they were dealing with dark, devilish magic. Best case scenario, they wanted to make a deal with him. The worst case scenario threatened destroying his entire essence. Fortunately, forced summonings were few and far between, especially as the human population grew away from the occult and leaned into more practical ways of dealing with their problems besides summoning the Serpent. It had been decades, if not a century, since Crowley had had to seriously attend a summoning.

Naturally, that changed as he was sitting down and watching a movie with Aziraphale in the flat above the bookshop. They were both a little tipsy, snuggled up as a tragic romance played out in black and white. It was Aziraphale’s pick. Crowley was just impressed it had sound.

He was about to make a snide comment about the idiotic male lead when he felt the world drop out underneath him and had a split second of panic that Hell had finally decided to try and get their vengeance again. He squeezed out a “fuck” before he was gone from the comfort of his angel’s home and sitting on cold, stone ground with a sigil glowing around him.

\---

It had been a nice night. Things had been going so well and peacefully, and Aziraphale was half-asleep on Crowley’s chest when the demon slurred out “fuck.” Aziraphale fell back onto nothing and had to take a moment to understand that his demonic pillow had disappeared.

“Crowley, dear?” he called in the darkness. What happened? Aziraphale stood from the couch, laying down the blanket and straightening a few things out. He fumbled with the VHS player for a moment before giving up and miracling it off with a snap.

This wasn’t right. Something was going on. It was meant to be a quiet night in, and Crowley didn’t normally disappear with just a “fuck.” Normally there would be a gentle kiss of some sort, a quick explanation, and then he’d be gone and back without much fuss. Especially on date nights.

“Give him a few minutes,” Aziraphale told himself. There was a knot in his stomach that Heaven or Hell might have acted against Crowley, but why just him? Was Aziraphale not good enough to be punished alongside his love anymore?

He’d wait a bit. No reason to jump to conclusions. It wouldn’t have just been Crowley if it was really Heaven and Hell. What was happening with Crowley, then?

\---

Crowley’s slit eyes saw into the dark room without issue. Even so, he had to blink a few times just to make sure he was seeing things right. This was not the typical summoning he was forced to attend.

He was in a dark garage with all the trappings expected of it. Horrendous, green minivan, cardboard boxes stuffed with holiday decorations, various tools shoved into the spare space. A space had been cleared away where he and three girls sat, all of them equally surprised by the presence of the others. The girls, who couldn’t have been older than teenagers from what he could tell, were all dressed in pajamas. Pillows, candles, and a Ouija board were set out, and the pieces clicked together as Crowley took in each detail.

“Oh my god,” one of them whispered, breaking the silence.

“Wrong entity, try again,” Crowley replied with a grin. The girls collectively gasped. “What? Didn’t expect me to talk back? Just wanted to sit and pass the Ouija board back and forth a bit?”

The girls were clearly processing exactly what they had managed to accomplish, and Crowley was as well. He stood up and stretched a bit before trying to take a step outside the circle. He felt a force against his foot, and then a slight burn. He hissed and drew his foot away. This was a properly drawn summoning circle, even if it was made with blue sidewalk chalk.

“Who are you?” another girl ventured. American accent, he realized. She stared at him from behind thick spectacles, which reminded him of his own naked eyes. He patted himself down and realized he didn’t have a spare pair on him. He didn’t even have his _phone_. Shit. Aziraphale was probably panicking back at the flat. He had to get out of here quick.

“Crowley, demon of Hell, pleased to meet you,” he responded, giving a little bow. “And who do I have the honor of speaking with on this heinous night of occult deeds?”

“Oh, uh, I’m Sarah,” the spectacled one answered.

“Miranda.”

“Anne.”

All very American, very normal girls as they intoned each of their names. Hesitant, but brimming with curiosity. Not the sort that he read as demon summoners.

“And how might I be of assistance to you three?” he continued. “Or do you make a hobby out of summoning demons while staying the night?”

They mumbled a few things between each other, seeming hesitant. Miranda nudged Sarah, about it being her idea, so Sarah scooted forward and gave Crowley a hesitant nod.

“You’re really a demon, then?” she asked.

Crowley crouched down so that he was level with them. “Original tempter of sin, Serpent of Eden, and inventor of the selfie.” He flashed a smile, revealing his fanged incisors. The girls gasped at the flash of teeth. “I’m mostly retired now, though.”

Miranda scrunched up her eyebrows. “Demons can…retire?”

“Retirement, failed execution—kind of ends up in the same state of drifting about, not knowing what to do with yourself but also having no desire to return to work.”

Miranda giggled a bit at that. There was still a tense, uneasy nervousness between them all, and he caught their uneasy glances at his reptilian eyes. The third girl, Anne, had stayed quiet besides to give her name. He was grateful he was the one who got summoned here. He imagined Hastur or Ligur (well, no Ligur anymore, he reminded himself) showing up and terrorizing these poor girls for a simple mistake. Screaming and cursing and then a whole blazing building, or maybe that writhing mass of maggots swallowing them whole.

He cleared his throat and looked over at all of them. “You’ve called me here, retired or not. So, what can I assist you with? Something wicked? Anyone you want cursed?”

“No!” Anne yelled. She covered her mouth. The poor girl was on the verge of tears.

Crowley held up his hands and backed away from them as far as he could, taking a seat and trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “No cursing. Got it.” He had such a soft spot for kids. Never could tempt them. They were still getting their legs under them, trying to understand the larger world around them. He didn’t want their first experiences to be ones dipped in sin, even if it was his job description.

“You were in Eden?” Miranda whispered.

Crowley nodded. “Yup. I imagine you’ve heard the accounts before. Big shiny apple, delicious awareness followed by being cast out in the desert. Gate of Eden set upon by an angel with a flaming sword.” He smiled a little at the memory. “He was horrendous at keeping track of that sword.”

Miranda and Sarah were enraptured by his story, but Anne still kept her distance. They weren’t as nervous now at least.

“Do you want to hear about it?” he asked them. “I can tell you all kinds of bedtime stories. Ones to make your skin crawl, or to soothe your spirit.” He used to whisper those stories to Warlock at night, pouring out his demonic influence at night while Aziraphale cleansed it in the day with angelic light.

“How old are you?” Sarah asked, quirking her head.

“Well, depends,” he huffed, thinking of the different “births” he had experienced. “This body is as old as the earth, but my spirit is older than the stars.” He looked at the ceiling in the dark garage and knew exactly where those celestial bodies sat. Had put them up there himself.

“You’re millions of years old?” Sarah breathed.

Crowley shrugged. “There abouts. Before the Earth was created there weren’t really years or days or anything. Just celestial bodies moving about, swirls of feelings and essences mingling all together in a strange, heavenly soup.” There was a term he was forgetting. Primordial something. All he could think about now was soup. Ancient cultures muttering about the Great Soup before time began. Didn’t seem right.

“But you’re a demon,” Anne said matter-of-factly. “You’re evil. You fell.”

He twitched a little at that, nerve endings remembering boiling heat. He gave a nod. “Yep. Got the black wings to prove it and everything. Bit small to show them off in here, though.”

Anne looked back at her other friends. “This is bad. We shouldn’t have summoned him.”

“Sarah started it,” Miranda said, pushing her friend towards the circle. “She’s into all the occult weirdness. Black cats and witches and tarot cards.”

“We didn’t think anything was actually going to happen,” Sarah admitted, looking at him. “We just found a sigil and some words and dared each other.”

He held up his hands. “Relax, all of you. Like I said, I’m retired. No point gathering up souls when your boss tried to have you killed.”

Miranda frowned at that. “What’d you do?”

“Oh, saved the world,” he said casually. “Satan wasn’t very happy about it, as you can imagine.”

“But you’re a _demon_ ,” Anne hissed. “Why would you save the world?”

He smiled at them. “For the alcohol.” Anne scoffed, but he continued. “For the automobiles rolling along the streets. For neat little antique bookshops tucked into the corners of a block. For films made horrendously that manage to get a laugh out of you. For the kids daring enough to try demonic rituals on the weekend. Very fond of those kids.” Oh, Go—Sata— _someone_ , he was sappy. Aziraphale had really rubbed off on him. Smoothed all his sharp edges.

Miranda laughed at that and nudged Sarah. “Glad you picked this one instead of that toad.”

“Oh, definitely made a good call there,” Crowley agreed. “Hastur is nasty. All boils and torment and maggots. Steer clear of summoning demons in general, but he’s a good one to avoid.”

Anne had relaxed. She was sitting in line with the others now. Quiet, listening intently.

He could keep chatting with them. Find out about their home, how they all knew each other. What books and rituals they managed to stumble upon that made a proper demon summoning circle with none of the nasty blood and sacrifices. It had been so long since he had sat around and spoken with children, about everything and nothing. He remembered standing and watching the children gathering around Jesus, asking questions and tugging at the rough cloth draped across the Son. _Let the children come_.

But there was Aziraphale to be concerned about. Aziraphale, who had been lying against his chest and must have been quite put out when his companion and cushion had suddenly disappeared beneath him. The nervous wreck of an angel, no doubt fretting about Heaven and Hell pulling them apart. He would have never been able to guess where Crowley had ended up.

“Can I ask you to do something for me?” he asked.

Anne immediately tensed again. “No.”

“Calm down. Just a call. I was with my…companion before you summoned me. I think he’ll be a bit worried.”

Miranda pulled out a phone and hesitated. “Who is he?”

“The Principality Aziraphale, guardian of the Eastern Gate. Also, my very dear… friend.” He wasn’t very shy about their relationship anymore, but it still seemed a bit odd to declare Aziraphale his “partner” or “lover” in front of the girls he just met.

“You’re friends with an angel?” Sarah asked.

Crowley nodded. “Best friends. He and I worked pretty close together. Met him at Eden, like I was telling you. And then hundreds of thousands of times after that. He helped me stop the Apocalypse.”

Everyone seemed to light up at that.

Miranda fussed with her phone again. “What’s his number?”

\---

Time ticked by with each beat of Aziraphale’s heart. He tried calling Crowley’s phone, only to realize it had been abandoned on the side table with his glasses. No way to reach him. Aziraphale then set about pacing, thinking of anything earlier that day that might have indicated they were being watched. It had happened in a blink. The little he felt of the energies before Crowley was pulled from under him seemed demonic. Hell might have summoned him, then. Pulled him away unwillingly. Their trials hadn’t been that long ago. Would they really try again?

Aziraphale went down and checked the locks and seals on his bookshop. He had made a few adjustments as a precaution—some low-level wards and warnings—but none of them were activated. Whatever had pulled Crowley away didn’t violate the barriers. Definitely not Heavenly. Would Heaven be coming for Aziraphale soon?

He went back upstairs, grabbed Crowley’s mobile, and fumbled with it. How did this infernal device work again? As far has he knew, actual demonic miracles made it operate.

Suddenly, it buzzed in his hands, and he nearly dropped it in shock. A number read on the screen, one he didn’t recognize. He answered hesitantly, considering for half a second whether or not to use his earthly pseudonym.

“Hello there, this is Aziraphale.”

“Oh my god,” whispered a girl’s voice. There was silence for a moment.

“Hello there?” Aziraphale repeated.

There was something inaudible, some shuffling around. Then a clear, familiar voice.

“Hi, angel. Sorry about popping out. Couldn’t be helped.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale breathed. “It’s so good to hear you.”

“Are you the angel?” another voice asked. Female again. Sounded young.

“Um. Pardon me,” Aziraphale said, “but I don’t seem to quite understand what’s going on.”

“Demon summoning,” Crowley answered casually, as if he hadn’t been suddenly and unwillingly extracted from their pleasant evening. “’M fine. Wanted to make sure you didn’t fret.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips together. “Well you did have me worried.” Then, a pause as he registered the first bit. “ _Demon summoning?!”_ Were the other voices his captors?

“Angel, s’fine. Bit of a mistake. Girls didn’t realize they were summoning me.” He did sound okay, and he wasn’t using any of the codewords they established (rather, that Aziraphale had established and insisted upon Crowley using).

“Who’s with you?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, no one you would know. All too cool for you. Big into occultism and demon summoning in between studying for exams.”

Girls? Exams? “Crowley, were you summoned by _children_?”

“Hey, I’m fourteen,” one of them protested.

“Yeah, Aziraphale, she’s fourteen,” Crowley chided. “She’s practically grown.”

Always with the attitude. Aziraphale was just grateful he didn’t seem to be cursing around the impressionable bunch. “Well, are you intent on staying there or will you be coming home?” His nerves were easing, and he just wanted Crowley back. Physically hold him and be sure his love wasn’t burning in Hell. Check over every inch.

“Aw, the girls and I have been having a great time,” Crowley whined. “Sarah’s pretty bookish. You’d like her. Miranda’s a mischief maker. Anne is a bit of a stickler for rules, but I think she’s warming up to me.”

“I still don’t trust demons!” a voice protested. Anne, presumably.

“Besides,” Crowley continued, “can’t leave until they release me. They got a sturdy barrier set up. Finest of sidewalk chalk used to carve near-perfect infernal symbols.”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose. How was he so madly in love with this idiot? “Please, Crowley. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Oh, we can video chat,” one of the girls suggested.

“Great idea!” Crowley exclaimed. “Aziraphale, you’ll see a little prompt. Do your best to accept it and not hang up.”

Another buzz from the flat phone against his palm. He looked at it and frowned at the small icons. He hit the green one and hoped it was the right choice, and the screen flicked into view. It showed Crowley sitting in a circle, at ease and unharmed. Aziraphale sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Aziraphale whispered. He noticed the girls next, edging in at the sides, trying to get a look at him. “And who might all of you be?”

“This is Sarah,” Crowley introduced, pointing to a girl with glasses. “She came up with the idea to summon me. Anne, not too fond of me, but I think I’m growing on her. Miranda’s a talker, for sure.” He pointed to each in turn.

“He doesn’t look very much like an angel,” Miranda muttered.

“Looks a bit like my grandpa,” Sarah added.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and gave a curt nod. “Crowley, what exactly have you been telling them?”

“Oh, just some basic things,” Crowley drawled. “Bit about Heaven and Hell. How we met in Eden. Favorite things about Earth. How much of a bastard Hastur is.”

“ _Language,_ please,” Aziraphale scolded.

“These girls are summoning demons. Hardly think a few curse words are going to do much harm.” He smirked in that way that frustrated and flustered Aziraphale all at once. The girls giggled.

“Well, it would still be best if you come home,” Aziraphale told him. “Please. If… _they_ could summon you, then…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Discussion for later. Where are you exactly?”

Crowley looked at the girls.

“Oh, Hudson,” Miranda answered.

“Ohio,” added Sarah.

_America_. Miracling back to London would be a beacon. They were on thin ice already. It was bound to raise questions, and he did not want to go down that path.

“Angel, I can see you spiraling from all the way out here,” Crowley said. “I’ll be right back in that shop soon as the summoning is over. Hardly practical to get interrupted and then have to find your way back.”

“You won’t have to go… Downstairs, right?”

“No, not with how I operate. We’re safe, angel.”

Aziraphale nodded. Safe. Alright. At least as far as they could be.

“Girls,” Crowley said, “done with your fun yet? I’d love to stay and chat, but Aziraphale is fussy and we were in the middle of something.”

“Were you on a date?” Miranda asked, grinning.

Crowley fumbled for a moment, and Aziraphale smiled and said, “Yes, we were. Lots of cuddling and kissing to get back to.”

“Angel!” Crowley protested.

“Dearest.” It felt lovely to tease Crowley like this. Even in the dark through the terrible screen, the demon’s cheeks were obviously flush.

“An angel and a demon,” Miranda said. “That’s so cliché.”

“Oi, it’s lovely, what we have,” Crowley defended. A chorus of giggles replied.

A knock came from somewhere offscreen. “Girls?” a male voice called.

“Dad, no, wait!” Miranda said. She disappeared from view. “Don’t come in right now.”

Teenagers knowing about demons was bad enough, but they tended to keep secrets. Adults investigated. A strange man sitting in a summoning circle would be cause for concern, especially when the circle was glowing, and the man had brilliant, yellow eyes with slits.

“What’s going on?” the dad asked. There was some fumbling, and Sarah had grabbed up a book.

“Just give us a minute, okay?” Miranda pleaded.

“The words don’t have to be in Latin,” Crowley instructed quietly. “Just put your intention to release me behind it.”

Aziraphale watched, his heart in his throat, and he was about halfway to snapping over there.

“I release you, Serpent of Eden,” Sarah intoned. There was a bright flash on the screen, a crackling noise, and when it died down Crowley was no longer in the chalk circle.

A thud came from behind him on the couch, with a soft groan.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tossed the mobile on the table and ran to his side.

“Hey angel,” Crowley huffed. He leaned his head against his hand and tried to look casual, despite his ruffled hair and awkward position. “Miss me?”

Aziraphale pecked him on the lips. “Always, you silly serpent.”

Crowley smiled and kissed Aziraphale back. Aziraphale melted into the touch, his fears finally quelling now that they had physical contact.

Off to the side, there was still some sound coming from the mobile. A faint voice asked, “Hello?”

Crowley pulled away, and Aziraphale whined as the demon picked up his phone from the table.

“Hey there, Sarah,” Crowley answered. Aziraphale settled himself beside Crowley on the couch to get a better view. He angled the phone so both of them were in the little frame in the corner. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it earlier. He was too panicky to think about it. What had he looked like to them the whole time?

“You made it back,” she said with a smile. “Wow. I can’t believe all of this worked.”

“Your lot were very lucky to get me,” Crowley reminded her. “Retired demon and all that. Got a fussy angel to look after.” He pecked Aziraphale on the cheek.

“Okay,” Miranda sighed. “You two are actually sweet together. Sorry for interrupting.”

Crowley nodded. “Please don’t go summoning any more demons. I’d hate for you to learn the hard way just how bad we can be.”

Sarah nodded. “Promise.”

“By the by,” Aziraphale said, “where did you get that book? I didn’t get a great look, but texts with proper demonic rituals are rare to say the least.”

Sarah shrugged. “They’re just kind of in my family.”

“And your last name would be?”

“Gadget. Sarah Gadget.”

“ _Witches_ ,” Crowley hissed with a smile, looking to Aziraphale.

“Did you know the Gadgets?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Knew of them. One of them was an inventor, I think. Old family name.”

“Ah.”

They both turned back to the phone. “If you ever want to send the books somewhere for safekeeping,” Aziraphale told her, “send them to A. Z. Fell in London.” Crowley snickered, and Aziraphale looked at him sharply.

“Okay,” Sarah said with a nod.

“It was nice meeting you two,” Miranda piped up. “Take care.”

Anne gave a small nod and the faintest smile. “Nice talking with you.”

Crowley’s eyes widened a fraction and lips twitched just a bit. He was absolutely beaming by his standards, Aziraphale could tell.

“Bye!” Miranda waved, echoed by the three others.

“Never call this number again,” Crowley told them, and hung up.

Aziraphale huffed. “Crowley!”

“What?”

“No sense of manners.”

“Ah, so it’s polite to ask a young occultist to pretty please send her rare books to your shop?” Crowley grinned at him, bearing those lovely fangs.

Aziraphale fussed with his shirt. “It’s best to keep occult books out of the hands of teenagers. It’s only practical.”

“Oh, of course. Practical.” Crowley’s tone dripped of mockery, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s good to know you’re okay. But…that can just happen? At any time?” Fear was prickling back up. “If Hell—”

“There are conditions,” Crowley dismissed. “Demons can’t force demons to go anywhere or do anything. They can very strongly suggest it, but I have every right and ability to decline.”

“So, what happened tonight, then?”

“Those girls found a very powerful symbol and drew it accurately. Used the right kind of intention to their words. Summon a specific demon, force him there, not let him loose until they said so. Humans can do that, but it’s exceedingly rare.”

Aziraphale nodded. He was a bit more reassured. Something Hell couldn’t use against them, at least. Just had to be careful of young witches testing their powers by summoning the Serpent of Eden himself.

Crowley brushed a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek and threaded their fingers together. “I’ll try and give you a heads up if it happens again. Something more than just ‘fuck.’”

“Please do,” Aziraphale sighed.

“Back to the movie, then?”

“Certainly.”

They snuggled back down on the couch as they had been. Crowley snapped his fingers and the film resumed where it left off, a desperate man crying over his love interest’s absence. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand and felt grateful for every moment they had together. Crowley would have called him sappy, no doubt, but the feeling resounded in his chest all the same.

Then, a thought.

“So, if demons can use it, does that mean angels can as well?” Aziraphale pondered.

Crowley frowned at him. “Excuse me?”

“Just a thought,” Aziraphale hummed. “It’d be rather nice to pull you out of thin air whenever I wanted.” Not have to risk being apart again.

Crowley kissed his hair. “You can give it a go some time. I’ll answer.”

Aziraphale hummed again. “I love you, my dear.”

“Love you, too, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on your preferred platform. yotoll pretty much everywhere.


End file.
